Date: Fri, 7 Apr 2017 13:52:49 +0000 (UTC)
From: Peter Brown
Subject: Fourteen again - Chapter 17
Fourteen again by badboi666
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This story is - guess what! - fantasy. If sex with boys isn't your thing,
go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to
get your rocks off reading about sex with a 14-year-old then make yourself
comfortable - you're in the right place. Remember the three things:
1 Cum (you may wish to do this more than once)
2 Wipe carefully
3 Donate to Nifty
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Chapter 17
I was at Plymouth Station after a hectic, and hugely exciting, few days. I
wanted to head back towards London, but I was in no hurry to get there. I
decided to stop in Exeter and try my train-spotting trick again. In those
days Exeter was served by competing parts of British Railways, with trains
from Paddington and from Waterloo, calling at different stations, but close
enough for train-spotting to be done at both. I wrote down my usual list
of numbers copped:
34021
34076
31586
I like
30746
30790
30838
sucking
30705
31542
4083
4549
cocks
4914
6003
1016
3809
interested?
6633
4226
And I was ready to cast my net. I had no particular prey in mind - another
boy my age would be fine, of course, but my recent experiences with Alan
and Peter meant I would consider something older. Maybe not 35 like Alan,
but a sexy looking guy in his 20s would make a nice change from
boy-hunting. I sussed out both main stations to see where the local
train-spotters gathered, and soon discovered the preferred place. It was
at the end of a long through platform well beyond where trains actually
drew up, and therefore peopled only by train-spotters with no passengers,
or worse, porters (remember them?) likely to be nearby. Ideal.
I got there shortly after midday on a roasting Devon day in August. There
were about 15 other boys, varying in ages from 9 to about 15. Two of the
younger ones were with a grown-up who was enjoying re-living his childhood
through their excitement. The others seemed to be either on their own, or
in a group of three or four. Apart from the man with the two kids there
were only three other adults. Two didn't interest me at all, but the third
had definite possibilities. For a start he was the right age - 22, 23,
maybe - and was what we would nowadays call drop-dead gorgeous. Tall,
slim, short hair, nice features. The most interesting thing was that he
had a camera with a telephoto lens. Nothing unusual about that on a
railway station, but what I noticed was that, whereas the boys with cameras
were snapping at engines, this guy snapped at boys as well. He stood some
way away from the others - 20, 30 yards maybe - and took his pictures
carefully when there was an engine coming in - but he aimed at a boy rather
than the engine. I marked him out as likely to be interested in this
particular boy. I was dressed as usual in a too-tight t-shirt and
too-tight shorts. If I'd had 'jail bait' tattooed on my forehead it
couldn't have been clearer - especially to someone as keen to read such a
message as I believed my camera-wielding friend to be.
Well, he wasn't a friend yet. I walked past him ostensibly to get a better
look at some engine to which I paid much attention, writing its number in
my book. I smiled and walked back past him, beaming with
'I've-got-a-new-number joy' so that he noticed me. When I got near to the
other boys I stopped a few yards short, making sure that he could get good
pictures of me if he chose. Well, choose he did. I didn't make my poses
too outrageous, but it's amazing how much arse you can show if you really
try while fiddling with your sandal buckle. And how you can jut out your
stuff while leaning back on a lamp pole. Snap, snap, snap.
After 10 minutes of this I was 90% sure he would bite at the worm I was
going to dangle. "That's a big camera, mister," I said brightly. "Do you
take lots of nice pictures?" (Damfool question, but I had to break the ice
somehow.) "Yes, son, I like coming here to take pictures. There's so many
interesting things to see." That seemed promising, I thought: my 90% was
more like 99% now. "You've been taking lots of pictures of me," I said
quietly, "but none of them so far have been interesting. Would you like to
change that?" And I smiled my most winning smile. He was taken aback, but
quickly controlled himself. "I develop my own pictures," he said, "because
the kind I take can't be taken to the chemist to be developed." "No," I
said, "I don't suppose they can. I'd like to learn about development, but
I'm maybe not old enough." (Time to tease the bugger by twitching the old
worm.) "Oh, I'm sure you're old enough - how old are you?" "Fourteen."
"A nice age for a boy," he said. 99 = 100, I thought: good.
"I have a car outside the station. I live a few miles away. Would you
like to come to my house and I'll show you about developing?" I decided I
wouldn't need my list of numbers today, but it would be sensible to keep
them tomorrow - you never know! "Yeah, sure, mister. Maybe you could take
some more interesting pictures first."
We got into his car - a red Zephyr - and he drove a few miles to his house
in Crediton. Like Peter's it was fairly secluded. We went in, and I was
startled when he got right down to business.
"OK, kid, what's your name? How old are you really? Who sent you?" I
wasn't expecting this, but without knowing what he was on about the only
thing to do was answer his questions until I had a better idea of where he
was coming from - or, indeed, planning to go. I had thought this was a
straightforward (straightforward for 1957 anyway) pick-up. "My name is
Peter, I really am 14, and no-one sent me. I'm in Exeter on my own, on my
way from Land's End to London." "How come you're on your own then?" Time
for quick thinking. "It's the holidays from the orphanage and they don't
expect us back until next Sunday." Lots for him to think about there - no
nice middle-class parents to worry about me, a whole 4 or 5 days to have
his wicked way with me ... let's see how he reacts to that fat juicy worm.
"Sorry if I seemed cross, Peter," but lately I've been having a lot of
trouble from older boys in the town" (I bet, I thought) "pestering me and
putting things through my letter box." "Well, not from me - by the way,
what do I call you?" "You can call me Tom. I'm glad you're nothing to do
with the local boys, they're a rough lot, some of them, but you seem a nice
boy."
"You'd be surprised how nice I can be, Tom, especially with men who are
very kind to me." "Let's stop pretending, Peter. I think you've worked
out what I want and I'm pretty sure you are willing to offer it. Shall we
just cut out the preliminaries?"
"Glad to, Tom. Let me show you the engine numbers I copped today." Tom
seemed fazed by this, but I put the notebook under his nose. "This is what
I take to show any 13-year-old I like the look of," I said, "but when I saw
you taking telephoto pictures of my arse and my stuff I decided I wanted a
man today. The message is true for men just as much as it is for boys my
age. Now, what are you after, Tom?"
Tom hesitated before replying, so I jumped in again. "I'll tell you what
I'll do. I'll strip off slowly and sexily and you can take as many
pictures as you like. Then, when I'm naked you can touch me anywhere you
like, but only if you're naked as well. I want to suck your cock and you
can do what you like to me. OK?"
Tom nodded, unable to speak. It would seem that his dreams were coming
true. They wouldn't be the only things. He took me into a room with
little furniture and curtained windows. It was fitted out as a studio with
lights and stuff. There was a chaise longue and not much else apart from a
cabinet next to it. I wondered what might be in the cabinet, and was
confident I would find out soon enough. I hoped there would be lube.
Tom got his camera and the lights arranged while I sat on the chaise
longue. "OK," he said, "ready." I started a corny stripper's routine,
going through all the bump and grind motions while Tom snapped furiously.
Off came my sandals, then socks, pulled off slowly so that they stretched
from my foot while my heel was still in them. A bit like a condom in
reverse. Bare legs were keenly captured for the darkroom. I lifted my
t-shirt up to give him a good look at my belly - I was pleased that my
14-year-old navel was a lot nicer than the one I remembered having 56 years
earlier - and lifted it and dropped it back in time-honoured fashion. Then
quickly right off, leaving my head stuck in it (deliberately, of course) so
that he could get pictures of my nipples while I was being 'vulnerable'.
The old tart's trick of pulling my shirt back and forth under my crutch
(Tom beginning to pant, I was pleased to note) and then tossing it at him.
He caught it and, as I had hoped, sniffed the armpit areas. My worm was
earning its keep today!
All I had on now was my tight little shorts (Tom had no idea that I was
commando). Undo top button, pout fetchingly, tip of tongue out, undo next
button, stick arse out, lick lips, undo third button demonstrating a lack
of underwear ("fuck me," from behind the lens; "no, you fuck me," from the
object of his desires), more arse wiggling, all buttons quickly undone,
cock leaps out, hard as hell and slapping belly, lick lips more, wiggle
hips so that shorts fall to ground, pretend to look embarrassed, step out
of shorts, flap cock about in a come-and-get-me sort of way, turn round,
wiggle arse, bend slowly over to touch toes, grasp both cheeks and separate
... and wait.
I heard Tom take a few more pictures - he must have taken 40 or 50 in the
course of my performance - and then I heard him put the camera down. As he
came to me I reminded him, "No touching if you've got clothes on." He was
stripped faster than he had probably taken his clothes off for years.
Naked, he came to me and knelt down, his face in my arse crack. Good, I
thought, I'm going to like this. Although I planned to suck him off and
get a mouthful of his cum I wanted - needed, if I'm honest - a good
seeing-to from this guy, and I needed it right now.
Tom put his hands on my two arse cheeks and gently pulled them apart,
exposing my rosebud to his gaze and, I was pleased to discover, his hot wet
tongue. He lapped at my arsehole like a thirsty spaniel, and he was pretty
vocal about it, moaning and sighing. I wriggled a bit in an encouraging
manner, although if I'm truthful I wasn't acting any more. There was
something about this guy that was turning me on and ... suddenly I worked
out what it was. Stubble. He didn't have a beard, but he seemed not to
have shaved that morning and the stubble round his mouth and on his cheeks
was tickling and stimulating me in a way I hadn't experienced before. An
very erotic it was. My cock started dripping and I murmured, " Oh, Tom,
that's so hot. Your tongue on my arse is getting me so wet. Reach round
and feel my cock."
He did as I asked, and wrapped his fist round it, starting to wank me.
"No, don't wank me," I said, "I don't want to cum yet and you're so sexy
I'll cum really quickly if you keep on. Just feel my juices." He gently
rolled my foreskin back and spread the copious pre-cum on my cock-head,
then I could hear him licking his fingers. Nice! I wondered what he would
do next as he was continuing to lap at my arsehole. His lips left my arse
and I heard fumbling in the cabinet, then a dollop of cold lube landed on
me, causing an involuntary shiver. More lube on his fingers which were
soon teasing my lips. I squirmed encouragingly. A finger went in, then a
second ("Mmmm!" from me). He wriggled them about, hitting the spot and
eliciting another, bigger Mmmm! "Another?" he murmured. "You bet, Tom," I
said, "but only three until it's time for you to rape me. I like being
raped." In went the third and I felt delightfully stretched ("Oooh! yesss!
You're filling me so much. I think your cock is going to be very scary
when you rape me with it. You won't be gentle, will you?"). Judging from
the panting going on behind me the rape, when it happened, was going to be
fierce and urgent. That would be fine, provided that the second coming was
more long-lasting. It would be my job to make sure it was.
The deep fingering was actually extremely erotic. (It has always amused me
that the nerve endings inside an arse are so receptive to pleasure - why?
An arse isn't biologically designed as a pleasure centre. A good shit can
be - well, good - but you don't get an erotic frisson every time you shit.
Well, I don't anyway. Maybe I'm missing something.) I decided it was time
to be raped, so I reached round and felt for Tom's cock, which until now I
still hadn't seen as he had been behind me all the time. I felt a long,
thin cock, probably about 8 inches and uncut. He was very hairy (oh well,
you can't have everything) and very hard (that's better). Tom had picked
up on the rape theme and decided to play along.
"I'm going to stick my great cock into you, you wicked boy. That'll teach
you not to put shit through my letter-box. You'll feel a great deal of
pain as I ram myself into your weak little bottom. You'll beg me to stop,
but I'll keep on thrusting up you until you scream." and, without warning
he stuck his cock in fast, and all the way. "Owwww!" I yelled, 90% because
it seemed appropriate in the context of our pretence, and 10% because it
actually did hurt like fuck. "You wicked, sinful boy, you'll soon be
screaming a lot more." Out came his cock and back in at full speed.
"Owwww!" again, but this time 98% and 2%. I was enjoying the fierceness of
his possessing my vulnerable arse, and hoped that, with luck, he would feel
the need to inflict this ecstatic fictional punishment for a good long
time. "Oh! please mister, I'm sorry I put my shit in your letter-box.
Don't fuck me again ... Owwww! (he did: good!) ...Pleeeese." "You're even
filthier that I thought - it was your shit, eh? You disgusting little
toad" ("Owwww!") "I've a good mind to shit on you." Now that, I thought,
might very well be interesting. If I was as into piss as I was then being
shat on might be at least worth a try. "Oh, no, sir, that would be
horrible ... Owwww!"
This all-the-way-out and then bang-it-all-the-way-in-again method of
fucking was new to me, and once I'd got used to the slamming of his body
onto my back it was very pleasant. I decided to encourage him. "I'm
starting to enjoy this, Tom - can you stick your great big cock into me as
far as it'll go. I want to feel it pressing up against my guts. I need to
feel really really filled up with you, and then when you cum it'll feel
like I'm bursting with all your spunk." Always talk dirty, it never fails.
In he went, hard and deep and, as I expected, climactically. "Yessss,
Peter, take my spunk! It's filling your arse! I'm breeding you, boy."
I could feel three hard high-pressure gushes as his cock pulsed and his
spunk coated several inches up my soft wet insides. "I think I like being
raped after all, Tom," I murmured as he slowly subsided in me. "What are
you to do about me now?" He let his cock slide out, leaving my arsehole
wet and gaping. Quick as a flash snap! snap! snap! and my battered little
hole was recorded for posterity, agape and ravaged (and thoroughly
pleasured). "How about I lie down and wank myself while you take
pictures?" I could always have the oral job as number two, I decided. He
nodded, so I set to. Wank, wank, wank, snap! snap! snap! "Pull your
foreskin right back and let me have a shot of your wet red knob." Snap!
snap! snap! "I'm gonna cum soon - I'll squirt it up my belly if you like."
"Oh, yes, I like, tell me as it's about to squirt and I'll get a picture of
an arc of your spunk as it leaves your cock." "OK, I'll try ... NOW" and
as the first gush of my cum shot out of my 14-year-old cock on its way into
the air, and to land on my right nipple I heard snap! snap! When I'd
finished cumming there was a pearly train from my nipple to a small pool at
the root of my cock. Snap! snap! snap! "D'you want to lick it up?" I
asked, "that would be nice." He made to do so - "No, 69," I said, "I suck
cocks, remember?" "I've only just cum," he said. "So? I'm good at this,
just lick up mine and let me do the rest." Tom duly engaged with me, and I
enjoyed the sensation of his tongue as it travelled from my chest to my
cock. When he reached the pool of cum and had licked it up he put his lips
round my soft cock and nuzzled the still sensitive tip. He found more cum
oozing out as he did so.
Meanwhile I had his soft cock (only about 6 inches now) between my lips. I
went to work, tonguing the sensitive underneath and concentrating on his
frenulum (7 inches). I dived down past his cock (mine slipped temporarily
from his lips, but I wasn't bothered) and tongued his balls, and even
further down I gave his perineum a good soaking. "Oh, fuck, Peter, where
did you learn that?" I didn't think he would much like the truth (from a
rent boy in Cairo in about 1965), so I said nothing. Lick, lick, lick
(back up to 8 inches now) so time to engage with the serious business.
Lips round cock, suck, swirl tongue round exposed head, lick frenulum,
suck, swirl. Much moaning was coming from Tom, who had given up any idea
of 69ing with me. This was all about him. Suddenly he moved round so that
we were head to head. Now I could really get going at the underside of his
cock as my licking was from root to tip. Now I could get his frenulum
dancing! It was difficult to judge which of us was enjoying this more.
I've always liked sucking cock - I mean the sucking bit - and the
culmination of getting a mouthful of hot man-cum (or boy-cum, of course) is
just the icing on the cake.
Too soon he was there, crying out and fountaining into my mouth. Salty
this time, and (considering he's filled my arse not 10 minutes ago) quite
generous. He was, of course, completely exhausted. "I suppose you'll be
off now," he said. "No way, Tom," I replied, "I'm here for a lot longer.
You've not shown me any developing yet." "I didn't think you were
serious." "Well, I'm not really, but I would like to see your pictures.
How about you develop the ones you've taken today while I look through your
album - I assume you have an album - at the boys you've captured already."
"Yes, Peter, I have several albums, and you can look at them by all means.
Developing the film I've taken today will take a couple of hours, OK?"
"That sounds fine. I'll take the albums to bed and you can bring today's
ones when they're done," this said with a lascivious grin on my part.
And so it was. I stretched out naked in his nice big bed with 6 albums
which he, naked, went into his dark room to do whatever he had to do. A
plan began to form in my mind.
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"dot" com
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